


If Music Be

by Celticmuse5



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Slash, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticmuse5/pseuds/Celticmuse5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If music be the food of love, play on.</p><p>Shakespeare, <em>Twelfth Night</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	If Music Be

“Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl- hey, don’t!” Blair Sandburg tried, but he wasn’t quick enough to prevent his partner, Jim Ellison, from hitting the “scan” button on the car radio.

“Sandburg, if you value your life, you’ll find another station to play. I hate that crap.”

“Hey, Barry Manilow is a genius, man. It’s time the world showed some respect for his talent.”

“Yeah, well, this little corner of the world is a ‘Mandy’ Free Zone, alright, Liberace?”

“Lib-?!? Ooh, I’m gonna get you for that one. But fine, fine, if you want to listen to some Santana, I’m sure I can find “Smooth” playing somewhere on the dial. It’s only on every ten minutes all day long.”

Blair fumbled with the dial, and sure enough, Rob Thomas’ vocals and Carlos Santana’s guitar licks soon filled the cab of the truck. Jim relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, and even went so far as to nod his head and tap the wheel in time to the music.

Blair sat and watched in bemused appreciation of this spectacle, and then asked, “Jim, do you ever listen to music produced solely by people younger than you? ‘Cause I gotta say, your tastes could use some serious expanding.”

As the song faded out, and Jim signaled for the exit to Prospect Avenue, he chided, “I should listen to you? The man who thinks the Spice Girls were the original girl group? I don’t think so.”

“Now that’s just not true. I love the Supremes, and the Go Gos, and Gladys Knight, with or without the Pips. I have an appreciation for all types of music, unlike some people I could mention. Like this song here, it’s a classic.” And Blair proceeded to mouth the opening words to “Margaritaville” in a style so Buffett-like, one could almost hear the beach and smell the seagulls. Or, er, something like that.

Jim pulled into his customary parking spot and killed the engine and Blair, shaking himself out of his reverie, joined Jim on the street. In deference to the long workday behind them, they elected to take the elevator, and soon were locked tight behind the door to their apartment.

“Well, you might have a point about my taste in music, Chief. It is pretty rare that I find a young singer that I like. It just seems like the 60s and 70s were the best eras for my tastes, you know?” Jim threw his coat onto the wall hook and sank onto the loveseat, sighing in relief.

Blair grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, and sat down next to his partner, handing off one bottle to Jim and taking a pull from the other. He grinned apologetically.

“I hear you, man. And I was just kidding about you not knowing any singers younger than you are. I know you liked Matchbox 20 even before ‘Smooth’ came out.”

They sat in companionable silence for awhile, then Blair shifted and turned to face Jim.

“Hey, Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“I was thinking, you know, about our vacation this year.”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve both got a bit of extra money, right?”

“Yup.”

“And we’ve both got that mandatory two-weeks-take-it-by-the-end-of-April-or-lose-it, right?”

“Get to the point, Chief.”

“I want to go someplace warm, someplace with sand and water and maybe some pretty girls to look at. Just looking, you understand. Don’t get any ideas.”

Jim smirked. “As if. Where’d you have in mind? Miami? Acapulco? Maui?”

“Key Largo.”

“Yeah? Are you gonna want to ‘make love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape’? ‘Cause, if so, I am totally on board with that plan. I’m the love that you’ve looked for, Chief. ‘Come with me, and escape.’” Jim wrapped one arm around Blair, and pulled him in close, waggling both eyebrows suggestively.

“Hey, just call me Rupert Holmes, my man. I’ll even supply the Pina Coladas,” Blair offered generously.

They drowsed contentedly for a longer while.

“So, Jim… am I Bogie or Bacall, and think **real carefully** before you answer…”

End


End file.
